


Imagination Figmentation

by Klovar, Onxy_Black



Category: Splatoon
Genre: :), Angst, Gen, I finally managed to post pictures, I love you peeps that's why I'm doing this, I'm a plot thief, Life is great, Mebbe~, Someone else's OCs, check out Onxy Black!!, collab but not really, don't ask why, fluff?, for no particular reason, haha - Freeform, have fun :), here have a hug, here have another smile, i adore this fic, i love ao3, jk I got permission, kudos if you manage to guess why, let's go feels, lolol, my life is complete, no one dies, or something, or the plot, title's a spoiler, totally not sad, what to write here~, yes - Freeform, you might need a tissue?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:14:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22049203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Klovar/pseuds/Klovar, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onxy_Black/pseuds/Onxy_Black
Summary: During the Octo Canyon fight, octolings were freed of the terrible fate thrust upon them, Agents 1 and  2 were reunited, and Agent 4 cemented her spot as an Agent. While the world rejoiced, what remains of a octoling splatoon struggle to put themselves back together with so many missing pieces, trying to find a place to call home. The question, then:How far can love carry you before you fall?For all you brawl stars peeps, I got a quick lore dip as the first chapter, which should get you up to date enough to read this. I mean, I don't know the plot either, I just know of this game, and then I read this fantastic fanfic, which you should totally check out...I'm not saying you have to read this, just saying you can~
Relationships: Charger/Blaster/Octoshot
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Fragments](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19947085) by [Onxy_Black](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onxy_Black/pseuds/Onxy_Black). 



> I don't think I need notes the whole chapter is a note haha but have this anyway~  
> Huge shout out to **Onxy Black** for being my beta reader, among many other things!!

Heya peeps! It's Klovar here. Ok, look, I know this isn't Brawl Stars it's not even on the list of choices but I can explain myself, I read a fanfic in my break AND THEN-

Ahem.

So! And this applies to everyone. Please check out **Onxy Black** 's fanfic, **Fragments**! (Might want to check out the lore dip after this if you're new to Splatoon before doing that~) 1) it's good 2) this is an adaptation of that, so references and such will be made to that 3) it sets the tone so if I decide to pull the rug out from under you you'll be more shocke- I _mean_ it lets you know what to expect. Why would I mean anything else, right?

Also, also. I'm opening a little competition! With prizes this time, haha. Here's how it goes:

Round 1: From chapter 1-5, if you can guess vaguely what's going to happen(which would be revealed in chapter 6), I'll credit you. 

Round 2: From chapter 6-9, if you can guess the plot(yes it has to be the plot this time), I'll credit you too.

Because kudos to you! That's impressive! I'm offering a free piece of writing/drawing to you as a prize. Here's a hint: the title is a spoiler! The summary has a spoiler! The story is full of spoilers! Everything that happens is a potential spoiler! A lot of things happen for reasons that are spoilers! Spoilers are everywhere, believe you me, so trust me, you wanna keep your eyes peeled. On. Every. Last. Thing.

You may contact me via discord anytime throughout the story(comments don't count, you'll tell everyone else...!) at Klovar #6090.

Don't know how to use discord? You can email me as well, at treeleafklovar@gmail.com.

I'll reveal the first round of winners at chapter 6, and the second round of winners at chapter 10. Note that there are no limits to the number of guesses you can input- if you can come up with it, it's free game. Winning the first round does not disqualify you from the second round as well, so you stand to win twice! Prizes, unfortunately, remain the same(you can't _double_ the length of your request or anything like that, that's not how it works...!) 

You have my most sincere wishes. Good luck!!

Lore dip:

In the world of Splatoon, rising sea levels wiped out everything living on land(this is why you should pay attention to global warming, it's making life so _hot_ ). Then the ocean creatures decided it was a great idea to adapt to live life on the shrinking land, and abandon their vast sea home, because bad life choices, giving rise to inklings(squids), and octarians(octopus). Except, you know, they really were better off in the ocean. They fought the Great Turf War to earn the right to live on land- inklings nearly lost due to not being able to wake up early enough, but ultimately won due to a sudden octarian energy shut-down(somesquid pulled the plug, I'd say, them cheaters!) Octarians left to live underground, and inklings continued living above ground.

This is the world of Splatoon.

In Splatoon 1, DJ Octavio(an octoling) kidnaps the Great Zapfish(the main power source of Inkopolis- or, you could say, a live battery that never runs out in the shape of a fish). Agent 3(inkling) is recruited by Captain Cuttlefish(another inkling but with a beard) to get it(poor guy, playing such an important role without a gender) back. Along the way, Agents 1 and 2 are introduced and they eventually turn out to be Callie and Marie respectively(they are known as the Squid Sisters together- a duo band that sings better than a bunch of us combined, although if you sing badly in the first place and combine a few of you together it probably gets worse). Agent 3(the recruitee) fights DJ Octavio(the octoling) with the help of Agents 1 and 2 (they sing a power up song- because that works, I guess) and win. DJ Octavio is captured. 

In Splatoon 2 (set 2 years later), DJ Octavio escapes(guess they did a bad job capturing him), and does the same thing, except he kidnaps and brainwashes Callie this time as well. Both Captain Cuttlefish(the squid guy with a beard) and Agent 3(the recruitee) are off doing another mission(Octo expansion- you do _not_ want me to go into this), leaving Agent 2(Marie) to recruit Agent 4(another inkling, what did you think) to rescue the Great Zapfish and Callie. Agent 4(the another inkling) is mostly parallel to Agent 3's(the recruitee) story in the events of Splatoon 1, and Agent 4(still the another inkling) eventually defeats DJ Octavio with the help of Marie(the one not captured),who sings another power up song. She's later joined by Callie(the one who got captured), and together, they sing a super power up song. This super power up song frees everyone from their brainwashing, DJ Octavio is captured again, the Great Zapfish is recovered, it's a happy ending and this is essentially my summary yada yada yada-

Except this story starts here.


	2. ネタバレ: KazuNi-san

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did anyone realize that mine and Klovar's names make... Huh. Nevermind, now isn't the time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... No. The story doesn't start here, not yet.

Hello there! It's me, yes, ME.

Yada Yada I updated my profile pic. 

So I thought I'll say a few words as well, give a basic introduction and all, I mean, this IS the first time I'm doing something like this anyways.

First of all, welcome! Across time (past or new), across fandoms (Splatoon or Brawl Stars), hello there!

Second, let's talk a tad about this work! So while this is a 'collab' work, it... isn't, per se. I have literally no idea about the plot, and am just as much of an (anticipating) reader as you are! The author, then, is none other than Klovar themselves! So, I do serve (partially) as a beta reader, so I do get the chapters a tad earlier then you would (suckers! Joking~), but I assure you, I really don't know the endgame of this work, though I must say, it is GOOD with a capital 'G'. Seriously, not being biased here, I swear.

Thirdly, a little about myself! As a matter of fact, I do play Brawl Stars as well (I'm decent, around... 4k? Its been a while), and have read 'Running wild' to its completion. So I'm not stranger to the Brawl community, don't worry about that (if you did). As for my dear Splatoon community, I assure you, if you liked 'Fragments' (the work this was based on), you would absoluetly love this, cause coming from me myself, this work surpasses 'Fragments'. Seriously, damn.

Fourth and finally, as Klovar stated in their notes the previous chapter, there's a bit of a competition going on, yeah? So I thought I'll contribute to the prize pool, in my own way. Here's a little snipet of some art I did that you can stand to win if you win Klovar's challenge! Unless, of course, you already saw the complete picture, then... errr... I'll figure something out, I swear!

As an add on, there seems to be 2 phases to the completition, and while I can't exactly promise 2 separate prizes, I can try! The piece below will act as the main prize, but if you just so happen to win twice I'll figure smthing out! Maybe a personalised commission piece (maybe maybe maybe.) Ha. 

FYI? This is going to be a totally new (improved) art style I'm using here, but generally I assure you, I can draw decently. Besides, its all in good fun.

And well, I don't think I'll leave much of a presence in this work (as in in the writing) other than here or down in the comments (I'll be there, for sure), since, well, I am as much a reader as you are, yeah? Well, do support the author now, no matter where you may come from, play nice! And I'm pretty sure both of us would really appreciate those comments or kudos, so give some love! (If you feel this work deserves it, cause in my opinion, it does)

Well. Lets end this my standard way. I mean, I'm a sticker for tradition. Heh.

Until next time,

Stay Fresh!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should there be end notes for a chapter of notes? On top of already having a summary and notes at the beginning?? An eternal question without answer, I guess. Ha.
> 
> Is the title a spoiler? A reference? Just a random whim? Is it... IT??? 
> 
> Oh eternal questions without answers indeed.


	3. Meet and greet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Character sheets! Say hi~


	4. Cover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming soon...


	5. Chapter One: Without

The song. It finally cut through the haze that surrounded her, left her stumbling through another one. 

"6789, report." 

Their leader should have been doing this. Demanding status reports, issuing orders, calling backup. Not her. Never her. But here she was. For a moment, the fear thrummed through her, light but strong, dancing over frayed nerves and high-strung senses she was only just beginning to be aware of. 

"Report!" 

The song wound its way through her system, clashing with the fear of stepping out of line. That was right, she had no line to step out of. Their leader was gone, turned traitor, splatting them herself to side with the inklings who had oppressed and wronged them ever since the beginning. She didn't know what their leader hoped to gain, but she harboured a dark hope that the inklings had splatted their leader, killed her, never let her even glimpse the light of day like the heartless beasts they were supposed to be.

It was the least she could hope for. DJ Octavio would have done worse. 

"Report!!" She screamed, skidding to a halt in the slick ink coating the ground. Her voice hurt from years of keeping quiet, the sudden usage painfully liberating. 6789 lay prone on the ground, breathing harsh and laboured.

"...4649... I..." 6789 gasped, barely able to force her words out.

"Report, 6789. The damage, where?" She bit out, falling to her knees next to her fallen comrade. Perhaps she had been brainwashed, and she hadn't known she had been brainwashed, but it hadn't been the standard vanilla brainwashing either. Now that the song had cut through whatever spell she had been under, she knew what she had lived was a lie, but it was the truest lie you would ever find. She had been her, she just couldn't resist following whatever orders were given, because orders came from DJ Octavio, and DJ Octavio was perfect, seamless, a burdened ruler forced through difficult sacrifices for the good of his people.  
  
She knew that was false now, of course. That was the brainwashing doing that to her. But the rest had been her. If she formed a bond with her splatoon, if she knew them as well as she knew herself, if she cared and worried about their well-being...

"6789!" Another voice shouted, a wide eyed octoling skidding to a halt next to them as well. 

"I couldn't..." 6789 gasped, eyes growing moist. "Couldn't..."

"Shh, don't talk. Breathe," the new octoling, 5569, ordered gently. She couldn't do anything, frozen by the fear that she was about to lose one of her teammat- no. No, they were more than that. They ate together, slept together, fought together. They protected each other, cared for each other, shared with each other. Surely, surely, they were family. And one of them was dying. _Dying_.

5569 had this. She should go search for medical aid, something, anything. Find ink, the proper ink that they could breathe and heal in, not this sickly acid green that burned their skin and made them gag.

"We should go," she blurted instead, managing to break her frozen state to glance around. War raged all around, octolings against octolings, conflicted over what to believe. DJ Octavio wasn't a great ruler, not at all. He was just a selfish, spiteful idiot, with too many ideas and too little resources, blind to everything but enacting his revenge. He would have killed all of them in trying to get his precious revenge, and he wouldn't have cared. 

But that was just her. 

Other octolings couldn't- _wouldn't_ \- believe that it was all a lie. Disagreements had turned into arguments, arguments had turned into fights, and fights had turned into war. Those supporting DJ Octavio had come to an agreement to switch to acid green in ink colour, much like the green the inklings used against DJ Octavio, but much, much brighter. More acidic. 

And a terrible, terrible counter to their normal maroon colouration. 

A shot flew over their heads, barely missing, and she hissed. They needed to move. The near miss sent a message that was more than clear. Already, 5569 was hefting 6789 up onto her back, crouching to avoid shots in doing so. Staying here to recover was not an option. They needed to move out of the war zone as fast and as soon as they could, lest they got caught up in it again. 

"I'll carry the supplies," 6789 huffed. She gave said octoling a decidedly unimpressed look. 6789 was weak, tired, hurt, and worst of all covered in once-allies' ink. How could she expect to do work, and leave 4649 doing nothing?

"You need to scout," 6789 insisted, "we don't know where we're going." 5569 gave 6789 a disapproving look, hissing "6789..." in protest. There were many things she could have said or done, but she let that slide. Getting into another fight in the middle of a huge fight was, naturally, less than ideal. Fights only ever fueled war, just as anger only ever bred hate. 

"I can do that," she opted to say. None of them were in a state to fight, anyway. And she knew, she _knew_ , 5569 was worried, even if she outwardly disapproved of the pity. She had taken a solid hit to her leg during the fight, and despite her best efforts, she was starting to limp. Even on her battle high, the pain was coming through to her, and carrying heavy supplies would only make it worse. Scouting was honestly a really sad pity option, but she could roll with it, if it made both of them less worried. 5569 shot 6789 a look, the kind that meant _she_ was worried. For what, remained a mystery.

"Please," 6789 pleaded, her eyes alight with fervour and an unsaid need. "Please." Her voice hitched, eyes wet, and 5569 caved.

"Ok," she said wearily, and that was that.   
They set off in a random direction, running as hard and as fast as they could go, it being the best option they had to avoid the fight, not even stopping to refill their supplies outside the battle zone. They feared they would be caught up in the sidelines of the fight. There were pipes out there, somewhere, leading to the surface- or so the rumours said- and if they died trying to find it, at least they tried. What else would they do with themselves? Fight?

Silence reigned. 5569 was struggling to carry both her weight and 6789's. They might be warriors, but they weren't robots. They could only do so much. In an effort to go further, 5569 kept silent, conserving her strength. 6789 carried all the supply packs, reasoning it would be easier to keep everything together, and she couldn't take off hers without hurting a lot in the process. It left 4649 with nothing to do, so scout she did, although every scene looked the same- dreary grey rock faces stretching infinitely, as far as the eye could see. The ground was littered with rocks and boulders, ready to trip up the careless octoling, but that wasn't them. They walked until 5569 gave out, then they walked some more, because that was all there was to do. There was no shelter, no shade, and the air grew icy outside where the other octolings had been. She never knew a mass of bodies made such a difference in temperature. 

Her leg burned. 

They collapsed against a reasonably large boulder, simply sitting there for a while before they settled in. 6789 was panting despite having not walked at all, eyes bright, and she knew it wasn't a good sign. They huddled together, trying to conserve what little warmth they had left from the trek, before they started freezing. 

"We should get names," 6789 said, smiling at no one in particular. "I want to be Octoshot, like my weapon. Octoshot's my name." 

"...I'll be Blaster, then." 5569 said.

"I'm Charger," she said, wrapping her head around the idea that she was named after her weapon, rolling the word off her tongue. She decided it had a nicer ring than 4649. 67- _Octoshot_ , she reminded herself- suddenly started giggling.

"Octoshot," she said, "get it? I'm a octopus that got shot. Octoshot Octoshot shooting an octoshot." She laughed again. Blaster pressed a hand to Octoshot's forehead, frowning.

"We need to keep moving," she said shortly, hefting the still giggling octoling onto her back. "She has a fever", and "she's delirious" remained unsaid, but it hung in the air. Thick. Tense. Charger pushed herself to her feet as well, biting back the scream that shot through her from her leg up to her mouth. The tension hung in the air, thrumming, breathing, tight. Octoshot needed help. Fast. None of the octolings would have the ability nor heart to help- why would they? They were busy having a war, and resources would be scarce already. Sparing more to help octolings that wouldn't even join would be a waste. No, nothing would remain behind that wasn't already gone.

Only one way forward, now. 

"Charger," Octoshot slurred, "sthop dishappearingggg..." She mumbled something more under her breath, then fell silent. Charger concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. Octoshot burst out singing what sounded like a tune. There were significant pauses where she stopped- trying to remember, perhaps- before she started again, and she was slurring everything out at an inconsistent pace. 

She still recognised it near instantly. 

Maybe it was because the tune was recognisable. Maybe it was because she had only heard that many songs. Maybe it was still fresh in her head. But no matter how Octoshot was singing it, Charger knew- it was the Song. The Song that cut through the haze of smoke and lies DJ Octavio had weaved. The Song that broke her conditioning so she had the courage to act out of line. The Song that had saved her- saved them all. 

She didn't know it's name, didn't know it's origin. It had simply woven its way into her, a lovely, lovely sound that uplifted her spirits and made her want to sing along. She started humming along with Octoshot, each note pushed out of her with every breath she took- she couldn't afford anything more. She was already trekking, and any form of singing in of itself was already a momentous task. Trying to create that beautiful rhythm was nigh impossible. No matter how they were grunting it out, the Song itself came alive within them, filling their minds and lifting their spirits, giving them energy for one last burst.

Her leg burned.

"Let's... get to... that cave," Blaster gasped out. She didn't point- she couldn't- but they all plodded towards the cave. Octoshot moaned something miserable- she stopped singing a while ago- shivering and barely clinging to Blaster. Blaster kept moving grimly, and Charger moved with her, even though her leg felt fragile, breakable, like it would give at any moment. But it held, so she kept going. It didn't give out on her at all, and for that she was glad. It was Blaster who fell, tripping over one of the many rocks that littered the ground, an incident that only happened because she was dead exhausted. She pushed herself back up immediately, though, forcing her body to carry her to the cave. They collapsed there, and only there, utterly spent. 

They wouldn't get back up.

"Pretty," Octoshot moaned, lost in her own world, "the lights, can you see them? Pretty..." Charger crawled over to feel for a fever, recoiling at the heat she felt. It burned almost as badly as her leg. 

"The lights," Octoshot insisted, "can you see them, Charger? They're calling." Charger felt like her throat was closing up, like she wasn't able to breathe, because they weren't going to _make it_. The ink had done more than burn an ugly brand into her leg. It was killing her, she knew, the ink slowly working its way into her, interrupting her own ink from working to keep her alive. Within an hour, her leg would go numb, grow useless, and she would be land-bound. Blaster lay crumpled where she had dropped. She would barely have the energy to keep going herself, much less carry either of them. And she would. She would insist of carrying them both and dooming them all rather than leave them to die, because they were family and that was what they did for each other. And Octoshot... Octoshot was all but gone.

The thought burned, even though she knew it was coming, knew they wouldn't make it out alive. 

"We aren't going to make it, are we?" Octoshot echoed her thoughts, smiling way too wide, way too bright for such a moment. Somehow, that hurt more than anything else, knowing that Octoshot would smile and smile, even when she was dying, even as she crumbled into ink. It seemed wildly wrong, but somehow, Charger couldn't imagine anything else. 

"That's not true," she managed, even if she didn't believe it. Octoshot laughed at that, and for a moment, just a moment, they locked eyes. Octoshot had too-bright eyes, glazed with fever and pain, but they were still sharp and clear, not at all clouded or dull like Charger had expected. Because that was what the eyes of a fevered octoling should look like. That was what the eyes of a sick octoling should look like. But no. Not Octoshot. And Charger knew, _knew_...

"You can't lie to me," Octoshot said evenly, smile dropping. Her gaze was firm, determined, and Charger still couldn't breathe. Couldn't believe. Couldn't _accept_... 

Because those were the eyes of a octoling about to die, the eyes of an octoling in those final moments before death, where all the pain cleared and went away and there was nothing more. And it couldn't happen to Octoshot, not sweet Octoshot who kept them all together, saved them from themselves, and Octoshot just _couldn't die_. 

"5569" Octoshot called, voice as unwavering as her will, as clear as her eyes, and Charger couldn't do it. Couldn't watch her sister die. She stared at Blaster's slowly rising form, pleading soundlessly for her to pronounce some miracle, to talk Octoshot into living. But Blaster just looked up, stared at the scene unfolding before her, looked away. 

"My name's Blaster now," she said quietly, "you wanted us to have names before... this." She inched closer, wincing slightly, smiling at Octoshot gently. "It's a great idea, Octoshot." Octoshot laughed, a breathy sound, more like a wheeze than a laugh. 

"I like it," she gasped, "feels like us." There was a pause, where she just tried to catch her breath, trying to speak. 

The air felt thick.

"I saw lights," Octoshot said, raising a shaky hand, "it might be to the surface." She held her point for only a few seconds before her arm collapsed to the floor. Her breathing grew harsher. She tried to smile. It looked like a cross between a grimace and a forced smile. Charger couldn't look away, now.

 _Pain_.

They stayed where they were. Too weak, too tired, too unmotivated to move. She wondered if this was really how they would go out. As an elite octoling, and under DJ Octavio's rule, she had always thought she might go out murdered by inklings, or die defending their ground, or die fighting to reclaim lost land. Not quietly disappearing in a corner of their world.

 _Hurt_.

"Go. Stay safe," Octoshot whispered. Her mind was already slipping, the small moment of clarity gone. Her eyes dulled, slipping back into the fevered state she had been in. Charger didn't think she would ever return. If she did, it would be to leave. Forever.

 _Loss_.

Blaster was painstakingly pulling herself to her feet, inspecting where Octoshot had pointed out. She grunted as she pushed at the rock, trying to see if there was anything behind being hidden. Charger dragged herself over, glimpsing a flicker of light behind the rock, putting her shoulder to it and pushing. It wouldn't budge. It was too heavy. They were too weak.

 _Despair_.

Octoshot broke out into a song again, giggling wildly. The song slowly changed into the Song, mindlessly chanted, and she screamed, screamed and screamed and screamed because if they hadn't broke free at least they'd all still be alive. Should all still be alive. Not all dying and on the verge of death, crowding around what could have been freedom that they were too weak to _reach_. She had been prepared to die finding freedom, not die failing to grasp freedom, and now... now...

 _Bleak_.

...why was she crying? When did she start? She didn't know, but when she looked back at Octoshot's still, still form in the deafening silence, by cod, she thought she knew. And she didn't want to. Blaster was kneeling beside the rock barring them from the pipes, not out of reverence, not out of desperation, but sheer exhaustion that drove her to her knees and wouldn't let her back up. She was sort of leaning against the rock, what looked like a last ditch effort to move the rock by her weight, if nothing else. Her own leg was numb, useless, a dead weight. She wondered if this was really what would be the end of them, when they had survived so much worse.

... probably. 

The sob built up in her raw, aching chest, ripping it's way out of her closed throat and bursting out as meaningless sound that couldn't even begin to express how much it _hurt_. The scream rose and rose in volume, until it was a shriek that tore the very air apart- the air that felt thick and sluggish and cold. It didn't want to give up, didn't want to die, didn't want to lose it all because it was too _weak_. It was as if the Song had unleashed something that had been locked up within her, and now that she was at her wit's end, this new and frightening energy was surging up to make sure she couldn't fail. Blaster looked up at the same time, and they shoved the rock as one. 

_Tired_.

The rock rolled away smoothly, revealing the secrets it had been hiding. There was a set of clothes neatly folded and stacked, as well as a grate. She ignored the clothes, attention all on the grate. She hardly dared hope, hardly dared dream, but she couldn't not. Blaster was desperately dragging Octoshot- oh, _Octoshot_...!- to the grate, and she could only follow. 

_Falling._

She screamed as first Octoshot, then Blaster disintegrated into ink, sucked into the hungry maw of the grate. She grasped for them wildly, jerking back as her arm started turning into ink as well. The ink was undeterred, speeding up her arm and consuming her whole, leaving the grate to suck her in too.

If anything happened after, it was lost to the swirling ink and dizzying pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome, welcome, the new and old alike!!(not your age, of course...) Welcome to Imagination Figmentation. If I had to classify this, it'd be a thriller type genre(but don't take my word for it, you saw how Running Wild turned out), with a dark edge, I'd say. So, peeps, get yourselves comfortable in a nice, bright room, and don't turn your screen brightness too high- you'll hurt your eyes! If the story is really too dark for you, though, and you absolutely need to turn up the brightness, tilt your device to the side so that it doesn't shine straight into your eyes! Remember to take an eye break after that, as well.  
> Cheeros!


	6. Chapter Two - Hope

The grate was still and silent, sitting in a rather inconspicuous place. It had remained undisturbed for quite a while. That changed, now. It rattled in a rather unhealthy manner, shaking for a good minute before ejecting it's unlucky passengers in a spew of ink and an overworked groan. 

Charger picked herself up with a wince, failing to stand. She stumbled, eyes flicking down to check for what was obstructing her, landing instead on what was once a functional leg. Right. Her leg was busted. She opted to look around instead, since her eyes still worked, which was why she saw what she did. 

For a start, Blaster was struggling to get out from where she was pinned under Octoshot, without actually disturbing or aggravating said octoling. Octoshot was... Octoshot...

...

 _Blaster_ managed to pry herself loose, starting to get up with one shoulder under Octoshot. That was one thing. The other thing she saw was a quick flash in the corner of her eye, barely noticeable, followed by a quiet _tap_. By the time she turned her head- too slow- _she_ was already there.

Her tentacles were now those of an inkling's, a mask covered her face, and her outfit was completely different. But Charger would be hard pressed _not_ to recognise the petite figure, and the mannerisms this figure so clearly carried. It was all too similar to another she had known for so long.

Creta. 

The traitor, the turncoat, the _backsplatter._ The one who had called herself their leader, and they had trusted fully with their lives only for her to pull the shot on them without pause. The one who allied herself with the inklings, and she had hoped had been splatted without mercy. 

But no. No, Creta was clearly alive and well, and that pissed Charger off. 

Her hand was already moving to her belt, jerking her charger up and out, smoothly pulling it up to aim at the intruder, hand steady, finger tight on the trigger. Whatever trick Creta had pulled by changing her tentacles had clearly worked, but she would finish what the inklings failed to accomplish. She would return the favour that Creta had done for them, and splat her. Once and for all. 

Except her weapon wasn't there. Her hand closed on empty air. A sudden memory assaulted her-

_"Look out!" Her earpiece blared, and her head snapped up. Her body moved even while her mind stuttered, smoothly dodging the shot coming her way. Someone screamed her name, and she only had time to widen her eyes before the second shot, hidden behind the first, smashed into her, knocking the weapon clean out of her hand. She crashed into the floor, breath knocked out of her, and-_

Then Octoshot had gone down, and she hadn't bothered to take her weapon in her rush to move. Right. 

Her gaze flicked to Blaster and Octoshot again. Blaster was barely standing under the weight of two octolings, although her weapon still hung at her side. She flicked her gaze back to Creta, and in the time it took her to do so, a shot of ink smashed into Blaster's, well, blaster, knocking it clean off and into the wall behind, where it was smashed into pieces. Or, at the very least, smashed into itself, making it unusable. Her mind stuttered, trying to catch up with the events happening, reevaluating her choices. She fell back on her instincts, getting ready to act, and her mind helpfully supplied what her instincts were in words- fight or die.

Ah, okay. Okay, change of plans. 

"Good afternoon, ladies," Creta said, and that was when Charger ran into a mental block, because on top of everything else, that was most definitely _not the voice of a she_. And most definitely not how you addressed other shes if you were also a she. 

...which meant this wasn't Creta. Which also meant this was an actual inkling. Who wasn't trying to kill them. And spoke octarian. Which meant this was possibly still the canyon(unlikely), or octarian territory. Which would mean octarians controlled more territory than just the canyon. Which meant history records were wrong(again, unlikely), or all the higher-ups lied. But they took orders from DJ Octavio. Who, while not perfect, would use this territory to motivate octarians to get to the surface. Which meant this wasn't octarian territory. Which meant this wasn't an actual inkling. Which meant Creta. But Creta was a she, not a he. Which meant this wasn't Creta.

...wait, what? 

"I assure you, I mean no harm. Please, be at ease," maybe-Creta offered, stepping back to give them more space. He slowly pulled out his weapon- an unfamiliar model- and pointed it towards the floor close to them. He fired a slow, lazy shot, which plopped wetly on the ground, a puddle of ink- _real_ ink, not the sickly green that burned their skin and made them gag. Then he dropped his weapon, kicking it away. 

Charger couldn't make herself relax from tensing the moment he had pulled out his weapon. 

"...what do you want?" Blaster asked warily, looking up from where she was hunched over, probably because her exhausted body couldn't support Octoshot properly. Charger felt a flash of need to take over, and care for her family, but she couldn't even stand. She was in no shape to care for herself, much less others. Blaster would have to deal with it a little longer. 

"Only to help," maybe-Creta said smoothly, without pause, indicating the puddle of ink with an easy gesture. "Without aid, you will give out within a maximum of 2 hours- that's 4 lilts- and that's with some generous rounding up. Your friend will last but a fraction of that time, something like, let's say... 5 minutes. That's about 60 beats, in octarian timing." 

She wouldn't ever say so, but Charger felt her breath hitch. 60 beats was by no means _long._ Even if this stranger let them pass, even if this stranger told them where to go, even if the inklings gave them aid, Octoshot wouldn't _make it_. Not unless help was right at their feet... like it was now. 

She swallowed. It sounded loud in the tense silence. 

"How can we trust you?" Her mouth felt dry. The puddle of ink bubbled invitingly, a safe haven that promised to relieve all the pain, and give them comfort. Her hand idly inched closer, tracing patterns on the ground. 

"I understand if you feel doubtful," maybe-Creta said after a short pause, bowing slightly, "but I assure you, if I had wanted you dead, I wouldn't be here, talking to you." The mask he wore stared at them blankly, betraying nothing of the inkling beneath. Still, a slight chuckle slipped out, and Charger thought the inkling might be smiling- the kind you made when you were trying not to laugh at someone else, but couldn't stop the smile that came. Or, perhaps, the kind of smile you made when you knew you were clearly in the superior position and couldn't help the gloating smile that crept up your face. She managed to tolerate knowing this without punching his smug face in- through his mask if needed. They needed him. 

"No. If I wanted you dead," he suddenly paused, all the mirth dropping out of his tone, "you'd be ink where you stand." 

It wasn't the threat. It wasn't his tone. No, what made the coil of fear slither up Charger's back, wrapping itself around her neck in it's icy cold grip was the _way_ he said it. He didn't phrase it as a threat, or even as a sentence. He phrased it as a _fact_. He said it casually, like an off-handed comment, but Charger could feel he was deadly serious. 

And that wasn't all. Because all of a sudden, she was very much aware that . She couldn't see where they were, or who they were, but she could feel their eyes on her, and she was certain that this was who had shot Blaster's weapon off with such deadly accuracy and strength. She didn't know how long they had been aiming the shot for, before they fired, but she had a feeling they hadn't- they'd just lifted their weapon and casually shot the blaster away without even putting thought as to whether the shot would connect. And that was dangerous. That was the mark of a seasoned warrior. The mark of a great fighter.

She would know. As an elite octoling wielding a charger, she had to say she honestly spent more time charging her shots and hiding than aiming and firing. Which, of course, brought up the question: how had the hidden inkling fired off a shot so fast? She was pretty sure they were using a charger of some sort- she was familiar with the weapon and what it's shots were like- for completely obscure reasons, whatever could they be...?- but there was just no way they could possibly charge up a shot of that power so quickly! She had taken only a beat- at most- to check if Blaster still had her blaster. There was just no way the inkling spotted that and charged up a shot to counter that, unless it was a more advanced charger, perhaps, or this inkling was so _good_ that they knew what they would do even before it happened... and prepared for it accordingly.

Cod. Cod, that was _terrifying_.

"How can we trust you?" She repeated, keeping her breathing as steady as she could. She was beginning to realise that the brainwashing had done more than tell her DJ Octavio was perfect. It had dulled down her fear and pain, making her stronger, faster, hardier. There had been no limit to how far she could push her body when she wasn't limited by emotions and afflictions that pulled her back. And that had made her a better soldier, even if it meant she just wasn't as good at being an octoling. 

DJ Octavio hadn't needed octolings and octarians populating the underground, after all. He had needed warriors who wouldn't back down till death itself, with or without a respawn point.

The silence droned on. There was no answer. There didn't need to be. She already knew- they couldn't trust this inkling. This inkling didn't seem to have any motivation, which made him all the more dangerous. All the more a threat. He simply turned up at the perfect time, offering much-needed aid, wanting nothing in return, but with the likely ability to splat them all within 5 beats. Or a companion that could do that, at any rate. Besides the fact that it was all terribly convenient, besides the fact that such a good offer was impossible, Charger knew that this inkling knew more than he was letting on. Wanted more than he was letting on. And that was why he couldn't be trusted, although his aid... might be welcome. 

Already, Blaster was moving to the ink, keeping a wary eye on the inkling all along. She carefully submerged Octoshot in the ink, Octoshot crumpling into her octopus form reflexively, and Blaster stood guard herself over the little puddle of haven. For his part, the inkling only settled down on the floor, waiting patiently. Charger settled for switching her attention between the bubbling ink and probably-not-Creta. In between that, she tried very hard to pinpoint where exactly his hidden ally- probably an inkling- was, but failed. The feeling of being watched had faded, the inkling blending so well into the shadows they were gone. It made her uneasy, to be honest. Uneasier than when she knew she was being watched, because at least she _knew_ then.

Not anymore.

A tense 136 beats passed, broken by nothing but the absolute stillness. The ink bubbled ferociously, and she wondered if she could possibly put her leg close and let the ink heal that. She had never tried using ink in that manner. In the rare event they had used ink to recover, they had plopped themselves into the ink in octopus form, allowing it to cleanse and heal them. It was always a warm, soothing experience, much enjoyed by anyone who managed to try it. Of course, opportunities to do so were rare, considering they usually fought till they were splatted, but... sometimes, when they won the odds and got through a training session- a rarity in of itself, considering training sessions were 10 against 1- they would be allowed to soak and recover in ink spas for as long as they wished. It was a luxury DJ Octavio allowed, a treat, or reward, for beating such a sheer challenge, and the ink spas were furnished to reflect that. The ink... the warmth... the _food_...

She hurriedly wiped the string of drool from the corner of her mouth before anyone noticed, turning as red as her ink. What a disgrace...!

The ink let out a sudden gurgle, drawing attention to itself, and thankfully, away from her. Hopefully, that meant everyone was looking at the ink, and no one saw her... ah... well. Doing _that_. Of course, it was impossible to tell with really-probably-not-Creta, what with the mask covering his face, but Charger decided he probably had better things to do than watch her face go slack and start doing such a disgraceful act _in public_. The same logic applied to his hidden companion as well.

...right? They wouldn't actually have seen it, and joke about it later, right?

...right. Inklings were serious creatures who didn't joke or tease or poke fun, least of all these two. They meant business, didn't they? She had absolutely no reason to feel uneasy. Unless, of course, she assumed wrongly...?

Either way, her attention was drawn to the ink puddle as Octoshot came shooting out of it, realised she was falling, screamed and kept screaming, started flailing the same time she started shifting, and ended up on the ground in a tangle of limbs with an impressive _thud_ that sent her straight back into unconsciousness.

...at least it was an improvement to her previous unresponsive state, Charger decided.

"Well," the inkling piped up, getting to his feet, "that went well. Now that your friend is out of immediate danger, perhaps you'd like a little information exchange? Question for question, truth for truth." If she could see his face, Charger was sure definitely-not-Creta would have smiled right then- although _smiled_ have been the wrong descriptor. Smirked, perhaps, or simpered. She went from alert to high alert. Here it was. The catch. The _in exchange for all i've done._

"Ladies first," he said, bowing, gesturing for them to go first. Despite how polite he was being, something about it felt... condescending. Sly... _off_. Terribly, terribly so. The politeness, while not forced, made her feel mocked, for some reason, and deadly uneasy. It felt like they had accidentally wandered into the lair of the devilfish himself, half dead, and he had appeared in the entrance of the lair, offered to cure them, and answer their questions if they agreed to do so in return... with the jaws of his pet beast just waiting to close around them. Living. Breathing. Hungry. And no. Way. Out. 

It felt like death. 

"Where are we?" She and Blaster asked together, tones melding together- one curious, the other dangerous. The inkling tilted his head slightly.

"The surface. Inkopolis Square, Squidview alley, to be exact." He swept an arm around when he said "Inkopolis Square", and it made Charger think that, perhaps, it was their version of the kettles. A large area, full of these... alleys. Whatever that was. 

"Now, then. What is your purpose here?" He directed the question at them. Her first instinct was not to answer, the second to lie. She gritted her teeth, squashing both of the rather unsightly instincts. So far, the Surface was proving all her instincts to be useless. She very much doubted this inkling would appreciate either of these responses, and while she didn't fear him, per se... his invisible companion was a constant threat. They were skilled, no questions there, and they could be anywhere. She would really, really rather _not_ get into a fight right now, with two of them weak and the other down. 

The problem was, they didn't actually have a purpose. They just... wanted out. Was that a purpose? She thought that was more like a reason. To set out with nothing more than blind hope that they could find pipes rumoured to exist because they had nothing left. Nothing more. Nothing except Octoshot's imminent death closing in on them, breathing down their necks, laughing at their fear. 

"...escape," Blaster said quietly, breaking the silence. "To stop fighting." _A_ _battle that we never picked_. Those words remained unsaid, but Charger heard them clear as day. It wasn't just because she knew Blaster loved fighting. It wasn't just because she felt the same way. More than that, they knew each other as well as they knew themselves, and that's why she knew.

"I see. Go ahead, it's your turn now," the inkling said, after it became apparent none of them were going to say anything more, despite the heavy silence. His tone was even. If he knew something, or he caught on, he didn't say so, and his tone didn't betray him. Charger felt a flash of admiration for how well the inkling could control his emotions, but buried that under the mountain of wariness and hate she felt towards inklings. He didn't know. He didn't understand. He didn't care.

Not the way he should.

And yet, he remained a paradox, a bundle of conflictions and contradictions Charger couldn't even begin to unravel. An inkling speaking octarian. Monstrous but not a monster. Deadly but harmless. Dangerous but docile. Unmotivated but searching. 

"Who are you?" She whispered, and for just a moment, she thought she saw through him. But then the moment was gone, and he remained silent. 

"Who are you?" Blaster repeated, louder. The silence stretched on. Then he bowed.

"My apologises, I cannot answer that. Would you change your question?" He didn't acknowledge the short pause. Blaster snarled wordlessly, eyes flashing. 

" _No_." She growled. "We're done here. If you really want to help, _leave_." The inkling hesitated, as if caught off guard by the sudden hostility from Blaster.

"...I understand. I failed to uphold our agreement, which I proposed myself. Once again, my sincere apologises," he said, bowing deeply. As he straightened, he reached into his coat, pulling out a thin card slowly, and holding it up so they could see it. 

"Nevertheless, I would like to offer a last gift. This card stores 10 000C, and should aid you in your new lives. You have my condolences about wishing to escape fighting, since your best source of income would be fighting turf wars. Truly, you have my best wishes," he explained, tossing it over. Blaster was moving the beat after he did, slapping the card out of mid-air and back to him. 

"We don't need your help." Blaster's voice shook with barely-contained anger. She balled one of her hands into a fist. Despite the fact that she looked like she might actually go on the offense, the inkling didn't even flinch. Just stood for a moment more, contemplating. Then he picked the card up, considering it, before throwing it upwards.

"Don't you?" He asked, voice amused, turning to look at them, and at the same time a shot of ink smashed into the card, nailing it to the wall exactly next to Blaster's face and below her ear. They snapped their gaze to where the shot came from, but there was nothing, and by the time they snapped their gaze back, the inkling was gone, too. 

The icy cold fear wrapped it's fingers tighter around her neck, choking her, making it near impossible to breathe as she first turned to look at the shot, then pried the card out with Blaster, then looked at it. The shot had smashed the card into the wall hard enough that it was embedded there, besides the fact that it had been done so very precisely. It was obviously the same inkling who had made the shot on Blaster's weapon. But that wasn't the real kicker, wasn't what made her sight blur and her knees weak. No, what did her in was the amount of skill this squid possessed- enough to single-handedly wipe out the entirety of their ranks, she suspected. Because any elite inkling worth their salt could probably fire a shot that strong and that precise. But this... to fire such a shot and only do the intended damage...

Because the card wasn't damaged _at all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmmm, things are picking up! How exciting~ I gots to say Blaster is probably the most fun to write. Her complex emotions and corresponding actions just makes her so great. Octoshot's probably the hardest to write, though. Writing a shy, melt into the background type character who still has a personality and gets screen time and character development is just... wow. Wow.  
> Remember that you can contact me via discord or email any time through the whole story to input your guesses, and there are no limits to how many guesses you have! I look forward to seeing your guesses!


	7. Chapter Three - Where

_Ink splashed and swirled in an endless pattern._

_Green._

_Maroon._

_Green._

_Maroon._

_Green._

_She hated to say it, but the green was winning out, despite the fact that it was 4 against 1- with the 1 being the green_ inkling _._

_Inklings. They were strong, no doubt about that. This one had blasted her way through ranks of octarians and troopers alike, no worse for the wear, and was now lazily flipping her way through the uneven odds to victory. She couldn't believe it. Their leader- Creta- was skilled, skilled enough to land blows on the inkling. But the inkling hadn't even flinched, hadn't even cared, just kept fighting with the kind of carefree arrogance of a guaranteed victory. The inkling didn't even seemed bothered by the fact that the device DJ Octavio had ordered them to activate disabled respawns for everyone in the battlefield. No._

_Just. One. Inkling. Destroying everything they had ever built for themselves within a mere 4 switches- inklings called that days, if she wasn't wrong. And the worst part was that the inkling didn't even look like she was trying, even against 4 elite octolings, and the threat of no respawn. She worked methodically, covering ground and switching between aiming for the machine and at them. She plopped into her ink, now, lazily swimming somewhere else, choosing to jump in an elegant arch over a shot rather than to go under- the safer and therefore more logical choice. But no. Oh, nooo. Why would she do that? Because inklings were so strong they could afford to flaunt and have fun even in the middle of a high risk, badly balanced battle that was_ not _in their favour._

_That damned inkling...!_

_Every last one of them were the same, she knew. They were stronger than octarians, of course- the Great Turf War had proven that. The records had been clear. The inklings had absolutely crushed them, even managing to find time to_ sleep in _. But they couldn't find the smallest shred of sympathy to share some precious electricity or mere beats of sunlight with the octarians. No. They hoarded everything to themselves, much like a dragon would with gold, beating any octarian who dared crawl out of their hole to pulp. It had been a challenge in of itself stealing the zapfish, and now, they came dancing in, flaunting their strength against starved, weak octarians, blasting their way through everything to recover the zapfish even though the octarians were the ones who needed it- needed it_ so badly _. They were dying without electricity, starving in this prison, and the inklings..._

_Sped up the process, sending in a warrior to splat them all._

_Well, that was fair._

_Especially to the old, the young, and the frail._

_She fluently dodged a flurry of shots coming her way, careful where she placed her feet on the precautious perch, shifting to get a proper shot if need be. She scanned the battle field in the efficient manner she had been thought, frowning when she failed to spot the inkling._

_"4649!" Someone screamed, "behind you!"_

_She whipped around- too slow- to find the inkling bearing down on her, performing a couple of barrel rolls, features squashing terribly as she shifted and moved all at the same time. And then her hands- more ink and tentacles than really hands- shot out, clutching the very same pair of dualies that had splatted so many of them, and_ they were pointed straight at her, _steady despite the movement their wielder was going through._

_"Lights out," the inkling hissed, eyes flashing, mouth widening in a crazed smile, and she-[]_

Screamed, flailing wildly, trying to backpedal and keep her balance and charge up a shot to counter the deadly blast all at the same time. Her hands closed on empty air where her charger should have been. _Where was it_? Her head unceremoniously thumped against the wall behind, sending a burst of stars and dark particles through her vision. 

She would have screamed, except for the fact that she was already screaming. Except she wasn't really, because a raw sob tore it's way out of her throat- wet and frightened and pained. 

"... Charger?" She was crying in earnest now, the tears welling up and rolling down her cheeks even though she didn't want them to, and she hated that it happened all the same. She scrubbed at her tears forcefully, ignoring the way her body tried to hiccup and gasp wetly, forcing her breaths to be even. 

"I'm fine," she said, even though she didn't sound fine even to herself. Her voice was rough and small, her eyes burned, and- cod, why wouldn't her hands stop _shaking_? She was just fine, she wasn't hurt, she wasn't ink, because it was just a nightmare, just a nightmare, it wasn't a flashback, it didn't happen, it wasn't _real_ -

So why?

Why was she so _frightened_?

"No, you're not," Blaster said bluntly, studying the side of the bed. Her fingers tapped an irregular beat on the sheets, leg shaking at random intervals, looking about as comfortable as an octoling would be right next to a huge body of water. That is to say, extremely uncomfortable. Blaster had never been good with "emotional, sappy moments", as she put it. She either left Octoshot to deal with it, or started displaying a truly impressive number of nervous ticks. Flicking her gaze around, chewing her lip, lacing and unlacing her fingers, tapping her feet, playing with the hem of her clothes...

And that was just to name a few. 

"Would you like to talk about it?" Octoshot asked gently. Charger managed to hunch up further. Talk? Talk! Talk about what, the inkling's taunting moves, or the inkling's easy victory, or perhaps the inkling about to sp-splat... sp-lat... s-s-sp... 

Cod, what was wrong with her? It was just a nightmare. Just. A. Nightmare. 

"It's nothing," her mouth said, "just the inkling invading our home, and sp... yeah." Her breath hitched on the word "splat", like it was something terrible and out of the world, rather than something mundane. She sort of wished she could return to being brainwashed. She didn't have nightmares then. She wasn't scared then. 

It didn't stop Octoshot from slithering forward and gingerly hugging her. The hug felt delicate and precious and warm- like Octoshot. 

It felt unreal. 

"We should get going," Charger pulled away, climbing out of bed. Octoshot's touch lingered, but ultimately left when she moved even further away. She felt a little like Blaster, running from any and all things related to emotions. But it wasn't the same, she told herself. She was just giving herself some time to get over the nightmare, and once she did she'd be able to think about it clearly, and talk it out, and deal with it and then let it go. She wasn't sweeping it into the water, or ignoring it, or pretending it didn't exist. She wasn't that immature.

"Let's go," she said, even though she knew there wouldn't be any point for all three of them to go. After the harrowing experience with not-Creta and his companion, they had made the decision to use the ink puddle and heal up. And take the card. As Charger reasoned, they didn't know anything about the surface world, and if this "10 000C" helped, well, why not? They had avoided any and all inklings at all costs- a task that became increasingly difficult in the inkling populated surface- until they eventually found themselves face to face with a couple of young inklings. They had been frightened- not of the two younglings, those two were easy pickings- but if they couldn't win against the entire inkling population. Still, the two younglings hadn't seemed to recognize that they were octolings, chatting in a friendly manner, and had accompanied them to find help as well. In fact, _none_ of the inklings appeared to realise that they were octolings. The two younglings, every squid on the streets, the nice hotel lady, the food vendors... 

She wasn't sure if the inklings didn't recognize that they were octarians, or didn't care. She thought it might be the latter, considering how vastly outnumbered they were. 

Either way, they had spent the first week or so holed up in the hostel they had rented. It was meant for two, which would be a squeeze for three, but they were used to much worse. The room was actually pretty spacious, decorated with great purpose so that it was warm and cozy- things like the matching theme throughout, the warm orange lights, the plush carpets scattered around the room..

The landlady had called this a "unit". It had everything they could possibly need or want, and then some, in order to live independently. The landlady had brought them around, introducing the washroom- they spent hours after she left admiring it- the living space- they wouldn't touch the TV for a whole three weeks- the kitchen- full of things they didn't know how to use, but the landlady was very nice to offer to teach them over the first week or so- and the balcony- they spent every morning silently watching the sun rise, and every evening watching the sun set. It made the idea that they were on the surface really sink in, and the sun rising and setting was simply glorious- full of reds and oranges and pinks and purples. They always settled down the same way, with Blaster leaning aginst the side railing, Charger standing with her hands on the railing, and Octoshot just standing there at the side, breathing in everything. Although these days, when they went out, Blaster was almost always in the lead instead. For some reason, inklings favoured Blaster over Charger or Octoshot, ignoring everything except what Blaster said or asked. It might be due to the fact that Blaster wore whatever inklings wore, and they didn't, or the fact that Blaster's tentacles were symertrical, like an inkling's were, so they favoured that. Regardless, both her and Octoshot ended up ignored- not that Octoshot actually opened her mouth in the first place, and Charger tolerated it as well, for the greater good. Who knew what the inklings would do to them should they try to do anything?

They had ventured out after a week, slowly exploring and mapping out this "Inkopolis Square". It was fairly large, but in the midst of it all there was a weapons shop. The horse-shoe crab within had looked fairly cheerful, and spoke some basic octarian, but had gruffly explained to them what was going on in the most terrible tone she had ever heard. The words were clipped and some of the tones bordered on outright insulting, but Charger chalked it up to a lack of proper vocabulary. Besides, he had sold them good, solid models of weapons close to what they were used to, and had called them back just as they were leaving to teach them how to say their names in inklish. Also, he had a smile that rivalled The Great Zapfish itself in terms of brightness.

"You. This need," he grunted, tossing a bundle of notes tied together onto the table, using a rather offending tone on the word "you", but with a big smile. He studied them for a moment, cocking his head to the side.

"Inklings. Say. To you. Tap ears," he added, pushing the bundle of notes forward. Charger look a glance at the first page. It was full of scribbles, some octarian, some doodles of sign, and a whole lot more that she suspected was inklish. Blaster slowly picked up the pile of notes.

"Thank you," Charger said sincerely, but he didn't seem to hear, already politely showing them to the exit and waving goodbye with another bright smile. He shouted something foreign after them, but it had a sweet, lilting tone despite the language barrier, so she decided it couldn't have been anything insulting. He wasn't too bad, Charger concluded- he actually acknowledged all of them, although he was slightly hard of hearing and constantly made them repeat themselves over and over. Still. 

After that, they holed up in their home for another week, trying to make sense of the notes. It was week 3 when they finally started integrating into surface life.

They had walked the streets, weapons strapped to their sides and backs, and despite the fact that she knew they still wouldn't win should an inkling fight them, the presence of her namesake put Charger at ease. They eventually wound up in the turf war arena, lost and unsure of where exactly they were. After Blaster had tapped her ears, the receptionist had very kindly explained where they were with gestures and pictures, and showed them around, and showed them where to register. 

"Welcome, may I have your name?" The inkling in charge of registration started. His blue tentacles were tied up in what seemed was the standard way of doing it- behind his head. He looked fairly enthusiastic, and eager to help. Charger didn't even begin to know what he said. Sure, the notes had presented octarian-inklish translations, but it didn't exactly note down how to pronounce the words. Still, she managed to hazard a guess, combined with the fact that the first word on the piece of paper he had in front of him looked vaguely familiar.

"ChAgah," Charger had managed, trying to mimic how the shopkeeper had made the noise. The silence stretched on. The inkling's smile faltered. Had she... said the wrong thing?

"Ma'am...?" He repeated slowly, "may I have your name?" Well. That was a failure, then. Blaster tapped her ears, and the inkling suddenly shot upright, confusion clearing.

"Ah, just a moment!" He said quickly, getting up, then paused, holding up a hand, followed by a finger. Charger paired that with the idea of "wait one moment". Blaster nodded, and the inkling rushed off. He returned with another inkling, this one looking much more composed. A pair of glasses sat on his nose. Charger instantly dubbed the original inkling Blue, and the new one Glasses.

Because why not.

Glasses bowed, making a series of signs and gestures that Charger couldn't even begin to decipher. She caught things she was more familiar with, like "sorry", and "you", and "me". Blaster blinked blankly.

"Egh dreesh andyrwhsih," Blaster offered, frowning. Even Charger was stumped by the nonsense that Blaster was spouting, until she ran everything through her head again, and realised that Blaster was trying to say something in inklish with octarian pronounciation. The notes had consisted of a whole section with inklish translations from octarian, after all. By just matching the inklish alphabet with what looked like roughly the same octarian alphabet and stringing all the syllabuses together, it should be inklish, right? What Blaster was saying sounded roughly like "I don't... understand?" 

Apparently, Glasses and Blue didn't understand either.

YOU UNDERSTAND ME? Glasses signed slowly. With the extra time to process the inkling signs, they managed to, nodding agreeably. Glasses smiled, signing GOOD. He turned and conferred with Blue for a moment, then turned back to them. YOU REGISTER? He signed. They nodded again, and Glasses nodded along. NAME PLEASE, he signed. Blaster pointed at herself, making the sign for BLASTER. Charger grudgingly gave Glasses credit- he didn't even blink, instantly relaying this to Blue, who asked Glasses something thrice before slowly writing it down. Blaster waved to get their attention, waiting until Glasses irritably replied something to Blue, smoothed over his features, and turned to face them with a pleasant smile. 

CHARGER, Blaster signed, pointing at Charger. Glasses hesitated slightly, before signing FRIEND, tilting his head to the side questioningly. Blaster nodded, repeating the sign for FRIEND. Glasses looked slightly uneasy, flicking his gaze over her, before nodding to Blaster, and telling Blue something. Blaster waved again, pointing at Octoshot this time, and making the corresponding signs for FRIEND OCTOSHOT.

"But I don't want to fight," Octoshot had confessed guiltily afterwards, in a tiny, tiny voice, tears in her eyes. "I'm tired of fighting. I'm SCARED of fighting. I just keep thinking of being splatted and dying and never coming back and I just don't think I can keep fighting." She had taken the registration card anyways, but neither of them pressed the issue, and Octoshot didn't bring it up again.

Glasses' smile looked a little strained, but nevertheless conveyed the information to Blue, who looked a little dubious. They had a quick, hushed discussion- not necessary, since none of them spoke inklish- before Glasses cleared his throat, waving to get their attention. He pointed at her, signing CHARGER, then at Blaster, signing BLASTER, then at Octoshot, signing OCTOSHOT, holding up three fingers. They nodded to confirm this. Glasses nodded once, handing over three cards, then shooing them out of the registration quickly. He didn't explain what the cards were for.

But that wasn't the worst part. What made turf war so bad, what made it so unfair and redundant for all three of them to go was that all of the inklings _didn't count her or octoshot in_. Yes, her busted leg had been too far gone to save, and yes, she had had to bandage it up, and yes, she walked with a limp. Yes, Octoshot was now paler than all of them, and yes, she was scared of every last shot, and yes, she found a remote corner to curl up and disappear after a maximum of 5 beats. And yes, they had found a clothing shop, and yes, she and Octoshot had bought unconventional clothing, and yes, only Blaster looked like she fit in.

But that didn't have to mean the inklings should discount any of them.

They were _elite octolings_. They trained 10 against 1 and fought inklings in a half-starved state. They waged war till they died, respawn or not. They didn't need to be pitied or mollycoddled and most certainly not be _discounted_. 

Except that was what happened. If all of them went in(when Octoshot was feeling brave enough and volunteered to go in, although she was noticing a trend of how often Octoshot participated and how often she had nightmares), there would be three inklings on their team. If either her or Octoshot went in with Blaster(it only happened once, and Octoshot never offered to go in with with only one of them after), there would still be three inklings on their team. If just Blaster went in, still, there would be three inklings on their team. But if Blaster stayed out... 

There would be four inklings. 

And no matter what, the inklings never, ever gave credit to her, and Octoshot always bolted straight after a match, so the inklings didn't bother to give credit to her either. And, of course, they discounted her too, because after the first time coming even close to being shot she just found a remote corner, curled up, and disappeared for the whole match. Neither of them blamed her, but apparently inklings did. 

Sure, she had known the inklings were cruel, but with how friendly everyone had been, she had thought she was wrong. And perhaps she was- the inklings weren't mindless beasts, raging at them. No. No, the inklings wouldn't do that. 

They'd only despise the weak. 

Charger. Octoshot. 

And she can't stop the thought that creeps up- the thought that whispers how very ironic this all is, as she leads her team out of the unit, and to the turf war arena. Because she had always been the strong one, been the leader when their leader wasn't available. She had wanted nothing more than for her team to be happy, and had led them as such. Except now, now, in this strange, new world of which they know nothing about, a world dominated by the very inklings who had suppressed them for centuries, when they needed help the most, needed guidance the most-

She was the one pulling them back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha I'm falling behind my schedule but I'll try my best, no worries! This chapter was fun to write, even if some obvious discrimination is taking place. But, I mean, you can't just expect inklings to be completely ok with them immediately, can you? But that's ok, because Charger's trying her best.  
> I left the signing in caps, and while it may appear disjointed, what you must know is sign doesn't follow your usual sentence structures. Sign differs from country to country, but a common point is that sign is very precise and on the dot. You won't catch someone signing HOW ARE YOU, you'd see them signing something like HOW YOU. Sooooo, broken sentences. Ha.


	9. Sorry!

Hi guys, this is Klovar. I'm really, really sorry, but IF will be going on hiatus! I'll be back (not very)soon :)


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